


Ruminations

by Clio_Codex



Series: Undress Your Eyes [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Force Sensitivity (Star Wars), Fucking, Introspection, Mandalorian romance, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mandalorians Fucking, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clio_Codex/pseuds/Clio_Codex
Summary: "Aoibhinn had wanted him from the start.  Maybe it had just been too long since her last good fuck.  Or maybe it was that Canderous was, like her, a Mandalorian adrift in the wake of the war.  Certainly didn’t hurt that he was well-muscled and clever-tongued, had a face that wore well the experience of his years....  Maybe love was knowing how to touch, when to go hard and how to be soft.  Maybe it was knowing what the other wanted, needed, how to give pleasure and receive in return."Aoibhinn contemplates the meaning of love (and how she likes to fuck).
Relationships: Canderous Ordo/Original Character(s)
Series: Undress Your Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036929
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Ruminations

**Author's Note:**

> Aoibhinn and Canderous are two of the main characters of my "Wandering Stars" series - should you want to know more about what they are up to when, well, not fucking....

Aoibhinn had wanted him from the start.Maybe it had just been too long since her last good fuck.Or maybe it was that Canderous was, like her, a Mandalorian adrift in the wake of the war.Certainly didn’t hurt that he was well-muscled and clever-tongued, had a face that wore well the experience of his years.

After their first meeting, she’d found herself pondering that he’d made her laugh.After they sparred the first time, she’d puzzled over the fact that he’d refused to yield.There was something about both of those things that pulled at her in a way she didn’t know how to name.

Many men avoided her - perhaps because they were afraid of what she was (whatever it was that she was) or because they didn’t want to cross paths with her father.Even so, she’d never lacked for a bed mate when she’d wanted.Fucking was a good way to forget the war, forget trying to figure out what she was supposed to be, forget trying to understand the strange things she could do.It was easy enough to forget their names, too; she never stayed.

When they sparred that first time, she’d pinned him, felt her blood rise at the hardness of his cock by her knee.That happened to men when they fought for reasons that had not much to do with sex, but in this case, well, she was sure that he wanted her back.It would have been easy to let herself go then, to have whispered her want in his ear. 

But she’d waited and so had he.

They’d danced around the thing for weeks, months even.The whole time they were on Taris and then the time to Dantooine.When her fingers found her cunt in the dark during those weeks, she thought of him, wondered what his fingers would feel like instead, knew she wanted to know what would make him moan and call her name.

Dantooine had started almost by accident.Somehow through the Force that she hardly knew how to wield, her wanting had touched him, ghost fingers that danced across his skin.It had been more than just fucking and worth the waiting, making love under the stars, the strange new thing that had been burning in her belly since Taris flaring hard and bright even though she still had no name for it.

She would never have expected to want this, the thing they had, to want to be held or comforted, to want to wake to his face or just enjoy their conversation.It frightened her, how much she wanted, no needed his arms, needed to lay her head against his chest to hear the rhythm of his heart and breath, like it was some part of her, the thing that now anchored her to the world.Maybe that’s what it was to love.

He always knew how to touch her, because he paid attention, watched her, knew her moods. Maybe that was part of loving, too, some sort of knowing, a being in sync, an understanding.

When she was angry, his touch was delicate, like he knew how to calm a skittish beast - and she was just that, ready to lash out even at the things she loved or liked.He’d stand behind her, the gentlest touch to her shoulders, waiting for her to relax into the press of his hands, knowing that what she really wanted was to melt into the weight of him against the whole of her body, a thing that eased her ire.His hands would run slow but firm down her arms, pulling her back against him as he pressed kisses into her hair, murmuring her name in her ear.

When they were happy, he was playful.They both liked to tease, about nothing and everything, suggestive words and touches that promised pleasures to come.It was good to laugh, to feel carefree and happy, to indulge for a while just in each other, to forget the questions and doubts.Laughing had always felt like a language she couldn’t master before, something incomprehensible or too frivolous to bother with.And yet, it mattered with him, came naturally like it had always been a thing she could do.

Sometimes she just wanted to fuck.He knew that mood too, was always ready to answer.Rough hands would tear at her clothes, sending her spinning as she sucked and clawed at his flesh in return.His hard thrusts answered her need to ride hard, to indulge some primal need to be filled, to moan and thrash and scream his name as he groaned hers in reply.After, she’d leave tender kisses on the marks she’d left with her mouth and nails, whispering his name as she did.

Maybe love was knowing how to touch, when to go hard and how to be soft.Maybe it was knowing what the other wanted, needed, how to give pleasure and receive in return.

He loved to make her come.

Sometimes he’d mouth at her neck from behind, running one hand up her front, the other down her flank to dig into the curve of her ass.She was proud of her body, of what it could do, the strength of her limbs and grace of her muscles, but often she felt unlike a woman, like she was only a weapon.When he touched her like that though, she was only a woman.She’d never much loved her breasts, too small or not enough, but his hands would make her forget, tell her that she was a goddess.

When they stood like that her back to his front, he would roam those hands and nip her neck until she was panting with the anticipation of it.He’d pull her back to sit in his lap; maybe she’d grind her ass into the hard of his cock then, making them both moan.She’d hook her legs over his, feeling the hard muscles of his thighs under her own, running her hands along them in appreciation.His fingers would dance at the crease of her thigh, feather light.One might drift to wrap under, squeezing, while the other dipped just into her folds, enough to feel the wet of her already triggered by his tease.

He might back out then to run his finger through her curls while he murmured in her ear, talked about the taste of her, maybe even sucked at his finger.She ached for his mouth when he did, but that could be next.Her head would fall back against his shoulder, baring her neck to him as his hands drifted back to her core.

Other times he’d start with the swirl at her clit, the rough pad of his finger just the right pressure to send darts of pleasure out to her toes.Other times he’d crook a finger into her heat, rubbing at her entrance.She’d try to find his hair with her fingers, something to hold, to tug. Or maybe just let her arms laze up to drape backwards around his neck.When he’d gotten a groan out of her from the first contact, he’d give her more, two fingers crooked just so, leisurely moving in and out, his other hand working across the slick of her folds, playing her.He was good with those fingers.He’d ask if she liked it, dirty words in her ear.Not that she could answer or wanted to anyway.Hums and moans would do.

He always knew, too, if she wanted it to last or just wanted to chase the quick high.Those fingers would thrust harder, fingers of his other hand rubbing firm circles to meet the thrusting.Fucking hells he knew how to work her, keep her riding the edge until it almost hurt and she had to come, cursing and arching against him.His hands would stay firm while she came down from it, his fingers scissoring deep against her to squeeze out the final sensations.And then he would lick them, grinning with his pleasure at hers. _Gods you are beautiful_ , he’d murmur at the mark he’d left on her neck.

Other times he’d mouth her cunt, but not before he’d driven her nearly to the brink by kissing her everywhere but.He’d start at her mouth, their tongues dancing and darting, the gentlest nip and suck at lips.When he broke off to send his kisses roaming, she let herself give in to the wanting of it, would marvel at the way his fingers played as his tongue tasted the whole of her.He knew, too, the way her pulse would race when he whispered at her ear, or sucked at the hollow of her throat.The way he could make her heart skip with the right motion of his tongue or his teeth at her breasts as his hands ran lower. 

There was almost always a tease here, too, as he’d skip over her heat to run kisses up the inside of her thigh, stopping just as he reached the top to look up and grin. _Gods_ she love that grin, especially when he flashed it right before he flicked his tongue at her clit, because he knew what she wanted even if she didn’t say it.

She’d say it, of course.Tell him exactly how she wanted his mouth, his fingers, how she wanted his eyes to watch her gasp at his attentions.Not that she had to.

Going this way meant giving up feeling his body against hers, but it was worth it for the warmth of his mouth.And he never left her without touch; he might grip her thigh or slip a hand under to cup her ass as he drank of her, his tongue working unreadable patterns, teasing at her until he finally fucked her with his tongue while his thumb worked her clit. 

When she tugged at his hair, he’d laugh, grinning again from between her thighs or stopping to bite at the soft inside of her thigh.So she’d tug harder and pull him in, greedy for the feel of him.He knew what she liked best - his fingers working her core, thrusting just so as his tongue swirled and mouth sucked.The rhythm of that, the wet heat of his mouth, the way he watched her every reaction, he’d hold her there as long as he could before letting her crash undone, bucking into his mouth as she held him firm against her core.

When he kissed her after, she relished the taste of herself on his tongue.

Maybe that’s what it was to love, to give yourself over like that.

Of course, there was a different but equally good pleasure in making him come, in watching his breath start to stutter, in feeling the race of his pulse.The contours of his body were as familiar to her as her own - the hard curves of his muscles, the irregular scars that graced them.Before she’d never bothered to learn a lover’s body.Now she took every chance to repay his attentions, mapping his frame with her fingers or reaching out to brush him with the Force. 

Watching him had taught her much about how his body moved, what it was capable of, how he fought and how he liked to fuck.

She loved the feel his cock in her hand.The trust between them that let him give himself over to her, that knew that she knew just how to move, how hard to hold him to make him quiver.Something about feeling him throb against her palm as she gazed into his eyes sent her reeling, knowing what he wanted, that she knew how to give it to him, could make him beg for it, made her cunt ache.

Of course, she liked to mouth him, too, an even more intimate act, to hold him like that, to taste of him, to feel him panting at her throat.There was a sort of feral quality to it, the smell of his sex, the salt of his cum, the softness of his skin stretched across the hardness of his cock.Her eyes would flutter as she hummed against him, her own heat rising again as her tongue worked him up and down, traced the vein along his length, swirled at his tip.One hand might hold him firm as the other explored, working back at the sensitive places that made his breath hitch.His hands in her hair were always soft, like he just wanted to give himself over completely and let her have her way.

Sometimes she’d finish him then, either with her hand feeling the warmth of him between her fingers or with her mouth, drinking his seed and licking him clean. 

Maybe that was love, too, this sort of giving and taking, the delighting in his pleasure, in knowing what he wanted and letting him have it.

She always wanted to feel him inside her.The first time, she’d been caught off guard by a sensation that was more than physical tearing through her, a sort of _together_ and _oneness_.She’d fucked plenty but never like this, never in a way that made the whole of her ache with an indescribable thing beyond pleasure.The look in his eyes and the feel of his body against hers, the way he held her and panted her name in her ear, some sense that she was seeing into his soul - maybe that was what it was to love.

It happened every time, whether they were fast or slow, hard or easy, just a moment, an intense few seconds where she forgot to breathe and heard his heartbeat in place of her own.That was the thing that made her know for sure that this man was not like the others, that it was possible to love.

The physicality of fucking was good, too, of course.When she straddled him, he’d thumb her clit and grab her ass as she ran her hands along his chest.Her thighs were made for it, could ride him hard and fast or drag him slow until she came again, crashing him along with her.

Because they trusted, sometimes he’d just yield, hands above his head, hers pinning his wrists.She was strong but he was nearly twice her weight, could flip her if he wanted, but he didn’t want.That did something, the way he’d look at her then, an utter surrender that made up for the absence of his hands on her body. 

If she backed off, just barely holding him inside her, she could feel his body beg for it, a tremble at his core, could slowly work him deeper and deeper, so close to the edge without going over.He’d curse at it, beg her to finish him, each round driving them both nearly mad with it.

Eventually she’d give in to her own need to just ride him, delighting in the way he’d come undone underneath her.

Maybe to love was to trust like that, to embrace the need to fuck hard while marveling at the miracle that was the oneness.

After they would laze together, tangled in each other.They were warriors, battle hardened and ruthless, but in these moments they were tender kisses and soft caresses, gentle words and easy silences.When she finally understood the depth of things, she stayed, gave into the desire to sleep in his arms, to wake to his warmth beside her.That’s what it was to love then, to trust like that, to find joy and comfort and pleasure in another. 

Maybe he knew that she did, that she loved him, saw it in her eyes or felt in in her touch.She’d tell him eventually, under starlit sky on a desert world that was not their home.


End file.
